


Summer Saturday

by Jubalii



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Relationship(s), Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, the innocence of youth love, wrapped in the humidity of an island summer....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Saturday

            For most of Labyrinthia’s citizens, Saturday was the first day of rest after a long week of hard work. It was a day of recreational pleasure, where one might enjoy a picnic, a leisurely nap beneath the forest trees, or perhaps an afternoon of quiet fishing with the family. But for the ex-Inquisitor Darklaw, Saturday was the prime day to work on her latest projects around the house, whatever they might be. To most of the other townspeople, these projects would have been unnecessary work. They were usually something that most people would leave off until another day during the week: painting ceilings, cleaning out the attic, washing baseboards and clearing cobwebs from the study, etc. etc. etc. However, for Eve it was almost relaxing in its own right. There was no better reward for a job well done then to be able to sit down with a cup of tea and a cake, and look over the recent achievements in the comfort of one’s own home.

            Still, these jobs were tumultuous, arduous tasks that could hardly be squished into a single day of work. Eve often found herself tired out and unable to enjoy what little downtime she had, even if she did find working on household projects entertaining. She was at her wit’s end on how to address the issue; that is, until Zacharias Barnham began to help her each weekend. She couldn’t really remember when he started: she had a sneaking suspicion that it had been when she painted her kitchen and he showed up out of the blue to help, having heard her talking about the laborious task with Espella at the bakery the day before. Then he’d come back the next week to help replace a window he’d accidentally broken in his haste to climb a ladder, and the week after he helped her move some furniture from storage to her sitting room.

            Soon, it became habitual to look for him every Saturday morning between the hours of eight and nine o’ clock. He came regardless of whether she thought she might need his help, dressed in comfortable old clothing that he didn’t mind getting ripped or stained, sometimes _sans_ Constantine and sometimes with the pup in tow.  At first, she couldn’t help but feel indebted to him for continuing to show up and help her with her task, whatever she’d decided to do that week. But she soon realized that he came to help not out of a misguided sense of chivalry, but instead because he really seemed to _like_ helping her. Whenever she self-consciously mentioned trying to repay his kindness, he always brushed off her offers in his usual easygoing manner with the adage that ‘friends should always help friends’, and since he was her friend it was only natural to spend the weekends together in this way.

            She did grow to appreciate his company and what it offered, and was even able to look past the oppressing sensation of being in his debt to see that he didn’t consider himself to be doing anything worthy of repayment. He livened up the work with his chatter and laughter, but just as often he supplied her with a serene, quiet companionship as they both worked in silence. She began to persuade him to stay a little later for a bite of supper, or at the very least a snack to replenish his energy after the workday was done, and sometimes it happened that they spent every sunlight hour of the day in each other’s company.  The rare times that he had other, more important matters to attend to on Saturdays, she actually missed him. It was strange, but without him she found herself unable to work at the same pace she usually did. It was different when you were quiet with someone, than to be quiet because you’re alone.

            As the months progressed, most of the townspeople grew used to Barnham being absent on Saturdays. If it was an absolute emergency, they knew that they could always find him out at Eve’s house, happily whistling as he worked. Once, a few weeks past, a pair of knights had noticed them working side by side repairing the old Shade stables and had passed at her gate to call out to him in a jeering tone, “Oi, Barnham! Busy helping your girlfriend?” He’d turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and had begun sputtering out an answer amidst the knights’ guffaws, but when she raised her head the laughter abated. 

            “And what if he is?” she had answered for him, not thinking of any consequences at the time. The pair had immediately paled, smiles frozen onto their faces, and whimpered out what sounded like a deferred apology before hightailing it back to the town as fast as their ironclad boots could take them. She’d turned away from the road to see Barnham staring at her, cheeks still aglow, and her own face had sheepishly heated in response. As soon as the next day, Labyrinthia was abuzz with the news that the two ex-Inquisitors had _finally_ gotten together, and Eve had found herself on the bad list of many brokenhearted women. By the time she had managed to get both a plausible excuse _and_ the courage to say it aloud, it was nearly too late to be claiming the story as mere rumor. And most of the town seemed happy for them; added to the fact that Barnham neither disputed the rumor nor discouraged it, it was really rather pointless to stop it _now_.

            That’s what she told herself, anyway.

            Even if it had started as rumor, it had worked its way into both their heads as well, and before she knew it they were actually considering it. One Saturday, Barnham turned to her and asked, with the usual pointedness that she admired from him, if they should ‘go on a date… or something’. It had taken her by surprise, and after a terse moment she’d shrugged one shoulder. She’d never realized how easy it had been to actually get into a relationship with someone—she’d expected more of a fanfare from it, honestly.

And they had tried dating; going to restaurants and out to do the things that other, _normal_ couples could be seen doing on the weekends. But neither of them had liked it, though they both admitted that the food at the restaurant had been delicious. It just seemed that true dates in the conventional sense weren’t their cup of tea. They agreed that they both would rather spend days together like they had been, working on projects under the sun together, and (quite literally) fighting over prime bar space at Rouge’s tavern in the evenings.

Despite being ‘together’, not much had changed. She still worked in the old Courthouse Theater now that reconstruction was finished, managing Labyrinthia with a sort of combine secretary-treasurer-architect job; he still worked and lived full-time at the bakery, though he was talking of purchasing a lease on a house closer to hers sometime in the near future. She had the feeling that he’d make gastronomy his career choice, unless some odd whim changed his mind. But now he was apt to hold her hand when they walked through town together, or sling his arm over her shoulder when they rested on Saturday evenings after finishing a project. She found herself embracing him when they parted, and though he’d only shyly kissed her fully on her recent birthday, he wasn’t above warmly kissing her cheek or her forehead when he was feeling energetic.

Still, in the end, not _much_ had changed.

* * *

“Is it just me, or is it sweltering up here?” Eve turned to look at Barnham, noting that he _did_ seem to be hotter than she was. Perhaps she had just grown used to the upper story of her house, which managed to turn into a sauna even in these early autumn days when the sun shone brightly across the flower-strewn fields and baked the wheat in the farmlands.  She had every available window open, but there was only the slightest of breezes to offer relief from the otherwise motionless air. And she was dressed lightly compared to him, her tank top offering her skin recompense from the confinement of clothes.

“Take off your shirt,” she advised, rather surprised that he hadn’t done it yet. Usually he was one of the first to strip during the hot summer weekends, usually whenever they worked outside. He’d always had that air of not caring about what anyone thought of him, shrugging off jokes and jabs, oblivious to the impassioned sighs of the town’s women whenever he bared his chest in order to let the wind help to cool him off. He only seemed to be affected by jests that had to do with their relationship, though she couldn’t blame him; she often blushed just as strongly every time she overheard one of the jokes, even though it was both told and received in good humor.

            “Eh heh,” he chuckled sheepishly, scratching his chin. “I, well, I didn’t think it’d be appropriate,” he admitted. She scoffed, turning her back to him as she lifted another empty box to stack against the wall. She grabbed the next one, yanking it towards her and wincing as its contents clinked fragilely. She honestly had no clue what was in most of these boxes, stuffed into her bedroom closet amidst her Great Witch gown and a few leftover holiday decorations. It was well past time for her to have gone through them and thrown out everything that she didn’t need, but it was such a time-consuming task that she had just kept putting it off.

            “So you don’t want to do it unless there’s the chance of a large audience,” she clarified for him, lips pursed as she yanked at the tape holding the lid of the box shut. “I see. I never would have taken you as an exhibitionist, Zacharias.” He laughed harder this time, slapping his thigh.

            “No! No, I just thought you wouldn’t appreciate me leaving my sweaty clothes around your house. There are enough of my things here already, don’t you think?” It was true, over the months he’d managed to leave enough things at her house that the spare bedroom might as well have been turned into his home away from home. Clothes, daggers, bowls for Constantine’s food and water, a comb… she was even fairly sure that he had an extra pair of boxers shoved into one of the nightstand drawers.

            She sighed and shook her head in agreement, but when she’d looked up at him he’d already taken her advice and shrugged out of his shirt, mopping a fine sheen of sweat from his forehead and cheeks before balling it up and tossing it in a perfect arc over her head. She ducked automatically, but it sailed high above her before landing neatly in the dirty clothes bin with a soft _whomp_. He grinned.

            “Two points!” he cheered himself on as he stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck, reveling in the freedom from the shirt that had been clinging wetly to his muscles. “A winning shot!” She rolled her eyes as he yanked another box towards him, ripping one of the handles cut into the cardboard before tearing off the lid in a clean rending of tape and box. Basketball had managed to worm its way in from the outside world and was a big hit with the young men of Labyrinthia; she was almost certain that Barnham must have once been either an avid player or an avid fan, since he showed a surprising bit of talent and knowhow for the sport.

“More quilts,” he tsked, pulling them out of the box and standing to put them in the closet on one of the shelves. “I keep hoping to find some dark, embarrassing secret of yours hidden away in one of these boxes.” His voice echoed from inside the closet.

“Keep hoping,” she called after him. “Most of this stuff is just old junk.” She finally managed to work a nail beneath the heavy tape and began to tear it off the box, taking some of the cardboard lining with it. “Besides, nothing you find could embarrass me. I know enough about _you_ to keep any blackmail material under wraps for years.” She opened the lid of the box to find that the clinking had been the tea set belonging to her father, brought to her by a smiling Dr. Greyearl and left forgotten in the closet.

Well, now _here_ was a predicament. She had no need for a spare tea set, considering her own was very nice and in a good state, but she couldn’t bring herself to put her father’s beloved china in storage, either. She pondered what to do with it before deciding that she would build a curio cabinet to hold it; perhaps next Saturday would be a good day, providing the weather was nice to allow her to varnish the wood. There was a certain empty nook in the kitchen that would look perfect with this tea set on display. She reboxed it, taking care to put some spare bits of paper and cardboard in between the pieces so that they wouldn’t chip, and pushed it against the wall with the others that were going to go back into the closet instead of to the storage house beside the empty stables.

“Okay, this is the last one!” Barnham announced as he walked back into the room, plopping back on the floor with and pulling the box between his legs. He yanked it open the same way he had the last, but thankfully this time the box’s lid stayed relatively intact and didn’t rip away from the cardboard body. He stared for a split-second into the box with a bemused expression before a boyish grin crossed his face. Reaching in, he pulled out a familiar object that took Eve by surprise. It was an old cloth doll, its raven hair pulled into twin pigtails and its soft, well-worn body dressed in a faded gingham pinafore. Its turquoise-thread eyes stared emptily up at the ceiling, pink mouth stitched in a permanent smile. “I didn’t know you played with dolls, Eve.”

“Of course I did; what little girl didn’t?” she replied quickly, hand fumbling in the air as she reached for the toy. He tried to keep it away from her but she was too fast, grabbing hold of the doll’s soft dress and pulling it to her almost protectively. “What of it?” He shrugged, shoulders quivering as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“What of it?” he repeated, mocking her high tone. “I just can’t imagine you playing with dolls, Eve. That’s all. Don’t be so uptight about it,” he added good-naturedly. She sniffed haughtily, brushing imaginary dust off the pinafore before smoothing down the black locks.

“Oh? And just what did you imagine me doing?” she answered. “I was a _child_.”

“Even as a child, I always thought you’d be coercing other children into playing courtroom, or perhaps pretending to do paperwork all day,” he continued to tease. “Perhaps bullying poor Espella into being a victim of your imagination?” She blushed hotly, frowning at him. Perhaps she had been a bit bossy as a kid, but that was only because she was the oldest! She’d never _bullied_ Espella, or any of the other children for that matter; it wasn’t like she played with many of them after the incident, anyway. Come to think of it, that was about the same time as when she’d stopped playing with Espella and her dolls, too. She swallowed hard, pushing the darker thoughts from her mind.

“Be quiet. Your childhood was probably no better; even back then, I bet you were roughhousing and rolling in the dirt.” He shrugged again, brushing off her accusation. She glared at him as she continued to stroke the doll’s thinned hair. “Espella and I had matching dolls, only hers was blonde. Our mothers made them for us.” She could barely remember her mother bent over the sewing machine, a serene smile on her face as her foot worked the pedals.

“Your mother?” She looked up from her doll to see Barnham staring at her with an undefinable expression; she knew that the tragedies of her past were town knowledge thanks to the last witch trial, but he’d never openly talked with her about the part she’d played in the destruction of the old town or the construction of the original Labyrinthia. He’d only accepted it as it had been told to him and moved on along with the rest of the town. “What was she like? Did she enjoy sewing?”

“I… I don’t really remember.” They sat in silence, which quickly grew uncomfortable. After a minute he cleared his throat and turned back to the box, pulling out more toys: a stuffed horse, a child’s tea set, a music box, and a fairytale puzzle. He looked at each one with interest before setting it to the side for Eve to decide what she wanted to do with it. She picked up the music box and opened it, hearing the last strains of a song that was familiar. What was the tune’s name? It was only familiar to her because of the box itself; she’d never heard the song in any other form. But it tinkled on, slow and sweet, almost regretful, until she snapped it closed again.

“Well, we’re done now,” she said in a rush, suddenly feeling bashful. There was something personal about the toys that hadn’t settled with her, different from the rest of the items they’d pulled out of the boxes. They were familiar remnants of a happier time, or at least a more carefree one, and for some odd reason she didn’t want to share them with anyone. Still, of all the people in Labyrinthia—including Espella—she supposed she’d rather have shared them with him.

She stretched up from her kneeling position to put the toys on the top tier of her bookshelf, along with a few other knickknacks that she’d deemed too important to put back into a box. She rubbed her stomach, trying to quell the tenseness in her gut, and took a deep breath. _Come now, Eve. There’s nothing wrong with him seeing a few old toys and other things in your closet. It’s not like you came across a box filled with old panties or anything._ There was absolutely nothing to be tense about! To be fair, he’d have probably enjoyed panties more than old toys; she’d caught him sneaking glimpses of her bare skin every time her tank top had gaped while she kneeled over the boxes. It was the reason she’d sat down in the first place, to deny him such a bawdy distraction from the task at hand. The fact that she didn’t _really_ mind him looking at a more opportune time was something she tried to ignore.

She clambered to her feet with the intent of putting the boxes against the wall back into the closet, but the blood rushed up to her head and her vision seared black, breath catching in her throat. The room spun and she stumbled backwards onto the bed, the soft mattress cushioning her as the black faded to the usual browned planks of her ceiling.

“E-Eve?!” Barnham’s voice was concerned, but she managed to lift a hand and wave him away, closing her eyes to help the dizziness fade.

“It’s alright. I stood too fast,” she muttered in explanation. Her back relaxed, muscles strained from lifting and bending over boxes. It was a pleasant ache that attested to a day of hard work, but she knew that come the morning she’d be sore. Her stomach grumbled and she remembered that the clock had recently struck two. They’d worked through lunch, so perhaps a snack was in order before they finished up the job? She was about to suggest it when the bedsprings groaned and the mattress gave. She opened her eyes to see him crawling up the bed and preparing to flop down beside her. “Don’t—”

Too late; before she could protest properly, he leaped the rest of the way up the bed to land beside her. Her body jolted with the impact of his against the mattress and she actually left the bed for a moment, hands coming up in surprise before she was falling backwards again. He wormed his arms around her and pulled her close, legs tangling with hers easily. His arms were bare now without his shirt, wrapped around her frame and pulling her to where the front of her tank top was pressed against his sticky chest. The tang of salt and shampoo was in her nose as he pressed his cheek to her neck and squeezed.

“Gross! Zacharias, get off!” she exclaimed, trying to push him away. Normally she wouldn’t have minded such a display of affection since it was just the two of them alone in her house, but he was sweaty and it would all rub off on her if he didn’t let go. His body pushed up on hers only made it hotter in the room, not to mention his warm breath on her collarbone. Despite her efforts, he only laughed and held her tighter, chin digging into the soft skin between her shoulder and her neck. “You’re too hot!” she protested, but he continued to ignore her.  Instead, he leaned over to grab something from her nightstand, nearly crushing her in the process.

“What’s this? I didn’t know you wore these,” he said incredulously, and she looked up to see him holding her glasses, staring at them with a curious air. She reached for them and he automatically held them higher out of her grasp, still studying them.

“They’re only reading glasses. I don’t have to wear them all the time,” she said impatiently, stretching her arm up as high as it would go and still falling short. “Give them back before you break them! I’ve only got the one pair, and if you mess those up…” she left her sentence as an unspoken threat to try and dissuade him. 

“Can I try them on?” he asked, ignoring her angry tone and unfolding the frames before she could answer. “I hope they fit. You have a small head…” He slid them on and blinked rapidly, staring around the room before looking over at her. “Well, how do I look?” He said it in a way that opened so many perfect opportunities to mock him, but if she was perfectly honest… he looked _good_. The dark material of the thin frames brought out the light color of his eyes without being too noticeable, and accented the planes of his cheeks. Even the scar on his brow didn’t deter from the look. She tried to think of something to reply with, but every answer was lost on her tongue and she ended up just staring at him like a fool.  He waited a minute, the smile on his face morphing into something slyer.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” he asked cunningly, his expression pure mischief. “Do I look handsome?” he added, his voice dropping an octave; the tone sent a wave of heat through her body. Still, she managed to shake it off and rolled her eyes in answer, still not trusting herself to speak.  He took them off and looked at them again, this time musingly. “What do they look like on you?” he wondered aloud, and before she could move he had them slid over her ears and settled on her face. The world came into sharper focus than usual and she squinted at the change, frowning at him with her best ‘stop goofing off’ look.

“W-what!?” she snapped when he didn’t make a comment. “Can I take them off now?” This also received no comment, but his eyes were honed in on her face; she saw the blood rising to his and his hand made a quick movement as if to reach out and touch her, but thought better of it.

“A-aye, t-take them off,” he conceded, his eyes shifting to look up at the ceiling as he bit the inside of his cheek. She immediately rushed to do so, less something actually happen to the frames. It was a hassle to try and order new ones, since she lived so far away from the mainland. The eyeglasses in Labyrinthia were fine, but a bit too archaic for her tastes—she wanted hard plastic, not flimsy wire frames. Still, as she rolled back to lie beside him again, she couldn’t help but ask the same question.

“Did you like the way they looked?” She looked away. “On me, I mean.” She cursed herself for sounding so small, but a part of her wanted him to… well, to like the way she looked! It wasn’t that she was vain, only—only what? She didn’t half understand it herself.

“You’re always beautiful,” he answered unabashedly, “with glasses, without glasses. I still like you either way.” She didn’t know what to answer, so she let the silence grow. The breeze picked up, stirring the curtains from the open window and drifting over their bodies gently, thought it offered little relief from the heat.

“Oh,” she finally offered. He leaned his chin back on her shoulder, and they both listened to the incessant droning of cicadas in the forest. A bird called, the individual syllables of its tweeting song carried upon the stuffy air, and from  far away the shriller call of its mate answered. She heard a fish jump in the lake, the _plop_ of its body in the water sharp in her ears compared to the soft sound of the man breathing next to her.

The sudden fantasy of them lying like this, only with no clothing on, caught her off guard. She mused for a moment about the feeling of his skin brushing along hers, uninhibited by clothing, the combined stickiness of their sweat giving way to more intimate actions. She found herself blushing and leaned into his touch without thinking, almost wishing for it to be real.

 Then again, they really hadn’t done more than kissed, and even that was a rare event. She could count on one hand the times she’d leaned up to kiss his cheek, though the feeling of it beneath her lips was always pleasurable. He’d kissed her once, on her birthday, his closed lips pressed to hers almost forcefully; it had taken her by surprise and she’d nearly bumped her forehead against his when she’d jerked back. She suspected that her reaction had put him on his guard, and he was only waiting for her to do something before trying again. Maybe she ought to try again now, when they were both relaxing together in the comfort of her home….

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, voice close to her ear. “You’re staring awfully hard at that crack in your ceiling,” he added teasingly. His hand wandered up her hip to rest on her stomach, fingers lightly dancing against the hem of her tank top in a gesture that was far more innocent than it appeared to be.

“Nothing,” she denied, twisting on the bed to face him. He was getting sleepy-eyed, eyelids drooping lazily as he pillowed his head on his arm. She felt her heart skip a beat and sighed, curling up closer to him. “Zacharias…”

“Hmmm?” She ran her fingers over his arm, feeling the muscles contract as her nails brushed them lightly. “What is it?” She nudged her head under his chin, feeling her heart begin to race. She wanted to say many things, but she settled on asking him to kiss her once more, to make up for the slightly awkward one. _I want you to kiss me_ , she ran through her mind three or four times before forcing her vocal chords to work. Still, she managed to mess it up, a different confession ringing out as her voice cracked and she was unable to get the full sentence out.

“I… want you.”

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note:** Ah! Aha! I am back! Sort of, at least. This new full-time job is keeping me on my toes, but to be fair I have more time to write. This fic was giving me some problems, though, and it’s gone through three or four rewrites. I plan on posting the next chapter sometime next week, but let’s be honest: have I ever posted anything on time? (The answer is no, I haven’t). But there’s more to the story, so keep your eyes peeled! Also, I haven’t decided fully if it’ll be an M rating or not, so for the moment it is, but it might change down to T depending on how I want to take it.


End file.
